


Oblivion

by PoetHrotsvitha



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 404 Ben Solo Not Found, Bad Guys Win, Dark, Drugged Sex, F/M, PWP, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-07-28 19:03:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16247903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoetHrotsvitha/pseuds/PoetHrotsvitha
Summary: It's easier to simply forget. That's what the pills are for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work goes straight up non-con by way of ongoing drugging. 
> 
> Very dark, please double check the warnings, etc. Kind of sadfic? Which would be a first for me

“I’ll be back tonight.”

She thinks that someone said that, maybe an hour ago, maybe more. Time passes strangely in this room. In this bed.

It might have been him. But then again, it might have been the ghosts that sometimes shimmer around the corners of her vision. They’re half-smoke and half-light and they frighten her. They seem sad.

They used to be quite clear, she thinks, but everything is a little bit dimmer now that she wears the heavy collar around her neck.  

She’s not sad. Her little dress is whisper soft on her skin and whiter than snow. There’s lots to think about in her spot. If she shifts up enough, she can look out through the viewport at the stars. Sometimes she feels like she’s swimming in them, floating and free. She’s fairly certain that she flew among them, once— _swooping and spinning through the sky with friends I had friends once that I loved I think they’re gone now_ — but it seems like a very long time ago now.

If she lies there for long enough, though, things start to get very _sharp_ around the edges. It hurts, it hurts her teeth and her heartbeat and her ribcage, so she tries not to let it get to that stage. When she feels it coming, she slowly gets up and goes to the ‘fresher. A little box of pills sits on a shelf near the sink. Her lifeline. Her oblivion.

Just one, dissolving under her tongue, and the world melts into a shower of beautiful sparks. She can go back to bed.

 

* * *

 

“Supreme Leader, I apologise for the intrusion, but are you he— oh.”

It’s not him. This man has red hair and she doesn’t like him. He’s an intruder in her space, their space, and she doesn’t want him in here. So she curls up tighter under the blankets and wills him away.

The red-haired man turns to leave— _I hate him why haven’t you gotten rid of him I don’t understand can’t you at least do this for me_ — but not before commenting with a distinct tone of disgust, “you know, I think it would have been kinder just to kill you.”

 

* * *

 

“Rey.”

He smells right and she wakes up to his nose tracing along the back of her neck, hands steadily holding her down against the mattress. Everywhere that he touches feels perfectly warm and good and she likes the heavy weight of his bulk over her. He’s hard already, she can feel him grinding against her, and she wriggles to get positioned just right. Just so.

“Have you been good for me?”

“Mhm,” she says dreamily, tingly waves of arousal beginning to build in her skin. His grip gets a little tighter and there’s a brief wave of uncertainty that ripples through her spine— _everything is gone except for you and I’m afraid so afraid so alone_ — but then it’s gone and it’s fine, fine. She’s fine.

“Did you take your medicine?”

He keeps kissing her shoulders and her neck and it makes it hard to breathe. It catches in her lungs, each kiss, wiping her mind clean with a fresh wave of colour. It’s emptying and fulfilling at once.

“Rey. Pet. Medicine?”

She remembers to nod this time. Yes, she took the pill— _I'm so bored I can’t stand this any longer I can’t stand it I’m losing my mind help me_ —just like she should. She remembers that. She has a calendar that she scratches off every day so she remembers. She needs it because otherwise she doesn’t remember very much. She thinks. She’s not sure.

— _A_ _hull on Jakku with a wall so tall she can’t reach the top on her tiny feet and thousands of tally marks_ —

"Good." His approval sends another shivery wave through her, especially when he rises enough to drag her hips up. There's the shuffling sound of fabric as he drags her dress up and then the blunt drag of his cock but it’s just between her thighs. It’s slippery because she’s so aroused, sticky from wanting him. 

And then he repositions himself with an annoyed grunt and he presses himself inside and— _please Ben don't do this I don't want to do this I'm sorry I‘m not ready I'll never be ready_ — "Fuck, feels good," he snarls against her ear, and he's right, it does feel good. More importantly, it feels like something, which is a welcome change.

She doesn't have to do a whole lot like this, just grip the pillow tighter and enjoy the feeling of the sheets beneath her cheek. It's all very soft and cocooning. Safe, almost. 

Except then his breaths become harsh and ragged against her ear and his grip tightens and it doesn't feel safe anymore, it feels claustrophobic, like she's trapped between pieces of metal in the hull of an ancient starship and it's threatening to cave in. Panic breaks through the lovely, blurry fog in her mind and she starts to struggle— _it burns and tears and suddenly her body isn't her own it'll never be her own again_ — because she can't be trapped. She can't. 

He clearly senses her panic, because he stops. In movements slow enough that she doesn't startle, he climbs off her, flips her on her back, and hunches over to press his mouth between her legs. The frantic feeling evaporates like morning mist. She's floating again, far away from everything and deep inside her body all at once, sparks swirling in her stomach when he purses his lips and sucks. 

She could stay like this forever.

It feels so pure when the crest finally hits, her legs shaking as she arches off the bed and cries— _she's never going to forgive him she knows it he knows it there's no coming back from this_ — there is no reason why she can't allow herself this pleasure. He doesn't stop until she dislodges him with a kick to his shoulder, twisting her legs together and waiting for the shaking to stop. For the ringing in her ears to cease. 

But he's impatient and he can't wait. He sits up and beckons. "Come here."  

Untangling herself from her own limbs, awkward and slow, she drags herself to him, to the only source of warmth in this room, the only source of love for her in the universe. Everything else is gone. No one else is left. 

Strong arms hold her as she straddles him and tries to slot their bodies together. He pauses her to make quick work of the dress, lifting it off her head. She obediently raises her arms, and it's warm when their chests are pressed together. Her nose against the base of his throat. "Go ahead," he murmurs soothingly, carding his fingers through her hair as she finally pulls him inside with a warbling sound. "You can do it, Pet." 

It's clumsy. She feels weak as a kitten, and her thighs shake as she slowly rises off him and then sinks back down. Her hair swings against her cheeks as she works, over her shoulders and down her back, much longer than she ever remembers it being. It tickles and he keeps brushing it away from her face, looking at her with such longing and devotion that her stomach tightens. 

His reaches down and forces his hand between their bodies to gently rub at her clit, and her whole body feel like it softens, growing more pliant. She can drown in him like this. Maybe he's drowning in her. 

“Rey. Look at me.” 

His eyes are so dark. Angry. The anger feeds him— _it hurts you're hurting me don't look sad you have no right to look sad_ — but it just makes her feel empty. Well. Emptier than usual. 

“Tell me it feels good.” 

It does. She shifts her hips just a bit further forward and suddenly the pressure is just so, pressing under her belly in a spot that feels hot and tingly. "Please," she murmurs, her voice sounding like it's coming from a thousand miles away, "It feels good, please, more?" Blinking up at him, she tries to focus and be properly enticing. She wriggles and moans and pleads with him, because she knows he likes it. Because it makes her feel like he’s as hungry for her as she is simply hungry. 

So he gives her more. Crushes her in his arms as he rocks up into her. Devours her whole. Drags her body up and down, lifting her like she weighs nothing. She is nothing. She thinks he might have said that to her once. Maybe she dreamed it. 

His final thrust is so hard that she bites down on his shoulder for relief, relishing his grunt of pleasure-pain. The warm and sticky feeling of his come smears on her thighs as he softens— _can't breathe for crying how could you do this how could you—_  and everything suddenly feels very hazy and far away. It’s a good feeling. Like flying, she thinks. 

Still holding her, he falls sideways and rearranges her like a doll. A shuffle here, a tug there, and her head is tucked against his chest. One of his arms is possessive around her shoulders. “So perfect,” he murmurs, “so good for me.”

It’s sweaty but she doesn’t feel like bucking him off. She likes it here—  _you can't keep me like this please don't keep me like this—_  and everything is fine. They will sleep now. Tomorrow he will leave again and she will take her pill. It’s fine. 

Everything is fine. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a [**twitter vote**](https://twitter.com/hrotsvitha_g/status/1124323560607113225) about adding a chapter to one of my one-shots, and Oblivion came out on top. Which was nice for me, because I've been considering adding a Kylo POV for a while. I was experimenting with a few new things here, style-wise, so feedback would be greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Please go check the warnings again. A lot of the things implied in the first chapter become explicit. This is a non-con work.

The medical bay of the _Ascendancy_ smells vaguely antiseptic, like sterilisation and bacta. The room is empty, save the two figures standing in the centre. This is a private consultation, and Doctor Usdo is considering Kylo’s words carefully, lips pursed. “Higher doses, you say? How much higher?”  

“I have not... Been monitoring her intake.” The little pills are delivered by droid, stored in his ‘fresher and consumed by Rey without any input from him. He can never taste or smell anything unusual on her, but he sees the effect in her blown pupils and the soft, false weightlessness of her smile.   

“Bloodwork, then.” Doctor Usdo nods. “Bring her in for bloodwork and we can—”  

“No.” Rey does not leave his rooms. 

“I see. Then if I could attend on her—” 

“No.” She finds strangers upsetting.  

“... Right.” The slightest furrow is quickly replaced by a placid, smooth face, the doctor assuming a very wise neutral stance. “Perhaps you could obtain a sample? I have a portable machine for it. I only need a drop. Just the slightest prick of her finger, nearly painless. I could even provide a demonstration on myself.”  

 _Nearly_  painless is not painless. Kylo would know. He is fluently versed in its unkind complexities and the way it rolls in endless, cyclical waves, from the burn of a sabre across his cheek to the words  _I will never, ever want you._  “Show me.”  

 

* * *

 

The soft skin of her neck is where he starts, pressing a kiss there against her prone form. “Have you been good for me?”  

She has, and she wants to show him. Rey sighs and wriggles and moans for him beautifully, leaving sloppy kisses everywhere that she can reach. Being the object of her affections is dizzying; even half-asleep, she’s wonderfully pliant as she takes everything that he has to give, clutching at him as he works his cock into her in short, brutal strokes. 

By the time he’s pressed her ankles up around her ears, folded her nearly in half and spread her open so he can watch where he fucks her, she's gone from half-asleep to unfocused and dazed. Sometimes he wonders if she even knows who he is while he’s inside her. The only people with emergency access to his rooms are those that he can trust to fear him, but he still has nightmares about someone finding her here, so vulnerable, and that she would simply roll over with a smile and part her thighs— 

“Say my name,” he grunts, and the silence is agonising until he wraps a fist in her hair, as familiar as donning his gloves, and gives it a sharp tug.  

“Ky-lo,” she hiccups out in two breaths, and relief heaves through him. He pulls her against him a little tighter, a little harder, and she squeaks at the change in angle. So he does it again, and again, until she’s scratching at his back and generating enough heat to light planets, burn worlds, bleach bones. Hot enough that he comes like it’s wrenched from him, shuddering over her.  

Into the bliss-drunk quiet, he mumbles, “do you remember how we met?” He remembers the shot she took without hesitating, the acrid smell of fear on her skin. The lush green of the forest. The moment when he realised that he had stumbled on something far, far more valuable than a map to his demons.  

“Hmm?” She blinks at him sleepily.  

“How we met. Do you remember?”  

She wants to. The furrow in her brow says she’d like to remember very much, but she can’t summon it and make it into words. 

He won’t scold her. There’s no point. But it leaves a bitter weight in his chest, and he summons the blood testing machine with a flick of the force that has a bit more strength than necessary; it hits his palm with an over-loud  _slap_. “Hold out your finger.” When he takes her wrist and lifts her hand, she doesn’t resist, letting her pointer finger be pinched between the clasp of the little blood taking machine. “This may hurt.”  

He clicks and she yelps, high-pitched and aggrieved. As soon as he releases her wrist, she snatches it away and glowers at him. “What  _was_ that?”  

It’s so like her old self that he aches. “Just a little test. Don’t worry about it.”  

 

* * *

 

Dr. Usdo provides the results the next day in another private consultation in the medbay, and the news is not good. “There are some extremely high concentrations of the drug in her blood. At this rate, her memories are going to disappear. There may be permanent neurological damage.”  

“What? What does that mean?”  

“It’s a risk with an experimental drug, I warned you about the possib—  _hurk_ _,"_  the Doctor chokes, his airways constricting as the air around Kylo vibrates with his rage. He remembers the conversation, the warning. But he also remembers Rey, sad to the point of emptiness:  _I don’t care anymore, about you, about anything_. He remembers the bone-deep knowledge:  _something has to change_.  

“What. Does that  _mean_.” He waits until the doctor’s eyes start to turn red. His heart feels as if it’s compacting, collapsing in on itself like a dying star; he wants, no, he  _needs_ the other person in the room to be feeling as much panic as he is.  

The doctor wheezes through his words. “Given the— the ingredients, she may find it difficult to— focus or learn new skills. It will be difficult for her to, to emotionally— regulate.”  

“What can we do?”  

“We can return to a— forced lower dose, the drug will be less, less effective, but some of the side effects may ease—”  

“Do it.”   

It was supposed to stop him from losing her in the first place. 

 

* * *

 

The change, when it happens, is startling.  

Kylo returns to his quarters to find his bed empty. Rey is instead sitting at the table, fully dressed in her old sparring clothes. “There you are,” she says, as if this isn’t the strangest thing that has happened in months, as if he isn’t more used to returning to a Rey-shaped lump under his covers. “Can you take this off?” Her fingers are at the force-suppressing collar at her throat, solid and metal and unyielding.  

“I can’t.” He can. But he won't. 

“You...” She frowns, tugging at it. It’s an aimless movement, without any real force, as if she’s doing it by rote. She’s less present than he initially thought; her gaze is still a bit unfocused, and she’s theoretically looking at him but he’s not certain that she’s actually seeing him. “You can’t?”  

“It’s for your own good. We agreed on this.”  

“We did?” There’s a flush to her cheeks that he hasn’t seen in a while.  

He walks to her side and cups her chin, running a thumb along the line of her cheekbones. Rather than answering, he leans down to kiss her instead.  

Rey melts into it, as usual— but then, very much  _not_ as usual, she snaps to attention and yanks her head away. “What are you doing?”  

“Kissing you.”  

“I don’t— we don’t  _kiss_.” But she sounds uncertain as she says it, like a student repeating a lesson that they didn’t quite learn the first time.  

“Of course we do. Don’t you remember?” He certainly remembers. Remembers the way she kicked out her legs and screamed, and he pushed through the pain because if she would only _let_ him, he could show her how good they could be _._ “You asked me to hold you. To kiss you.”  

“Did… Did I?”  

He’s dreamed the scenario so often that he can almost believe it happened. That she turned to him with a genuine longing, wanting him as much as he wanted her. Instead of answering her, he kisses her again, and this time she responds with a hesitant lightness as sweet as anything. Her fingers land on his chest, curling against the fabric, and he leans over her further and further until she has to slip her arms around his neck to keep steady.  

This is what his girl needs. Softness, endless softness, treatment gentle enough that she doesn’t resist when he lifts her from the chair and carries her to the bed. He’s used to her mind feeling like a morass, so numbed by the drugs that it’s difficult for him to follow any of her thoughts. It’s still confused, but she feels like  _Rey_ again, and it makes his movements quicken as he reaches to yank her shirt off her torso.   

He has her leggings halfway down her calves when she hesitates again, pressing her palms to her eyes. “I don’t, why can’t I...”  

“Shh,” he urges, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee. It’s easy enough to pull her underwear off as well— which is a strange and novel experience, how long has it been since she wore any?  

Kylo knows this part of her like the back of his hand, even when her mind is a mess. His Rey needs a few licks there, a kiss here, a press and twist of his fingers in the right places, against her breasts, between her legs. The flush of her skin is all the way down to her chest and she stares with fascination at his hands; her lips stretch into a pretty little circle when he pumps his fingers, her breath panting and her legs twitching as he makes sure that she's properly ready. 

He had hurt her without meaning to, the first time. He doesn’t need to any more.  

It’s only when he’s stripped off himself, settled between her legs and notching his cock into her, that her brow furrows and she tries to halt him again. “Wait,” she says, the heel of her palm pressed to the meat of his shoulder, braced against him. “ _Wait_. Something isn’t... This isn't right.”  

“Of course it is.” His knees slip a little on the sheets but another rock of his hips and he’s in her to the root, trying not to lose his mind at the slick heat of it, the way that he can see her stretched open around his cock, glistening.  

“No, it’s— no.” She pushes at his shoulder again, and then balls her fist and punches him. It’s significantly weakened by the months of inactivity, but the intent is unmistakeable. “Stop. Stop!”  

“Hush,” he murmurs, setting a rhythm that he knows she likes, one designed to make her writhe.  

“No!” Rey is full-on spitfire angry now, teeth bared, even as she keeps getting wetter and softer around his cock. Poor thing doesn’t know what she wants. “This is wrong! Ben, stop!” 

 _Ben._ Another thing he hasn’t heard in months. It makes him shudder, collapse on top of her to more easily hold her down, to press more of his skin against hers. It’s like being seen, like having her peer straight into his soul. It feels wrong, which in turn feels so, so right.  

He knows the exact moment when she realises that he’s not going to stop, because she bursts into tears. She was always so quick to cry around him, his Rey. She’s still squirming around and trying to kick him, but he if holds her waist, he can ensure they move together smoothly; the prickles of desire on her end slide into effortless waves of pleasure that she both enjoys and loathes, and she sobs harder as she digs her nails into his shoulders.  

The panic attacks were upsetting to watch, and he did his best to prevent them. But this is... Different. It only makes him harder, the tear tracks better than any face paint or adornment. It’s like the first fight in the forest when he could barely see her furious face through the pain and snow, like watching her brutally eviscerate Snoke’s guards.  

It’s the purest form of feeling alive.  

The victory licks up Kylo’s spine, as powerful as the day when he awoke and carried her away from the wreckage of Snoke’s throne room, as powerful as the first day he held her face and kissed her, as powerful as the first press inside her body while she shook. He wants. He wants and wants and  _wants_ , to take everything until there is nothing left to give, to drag himself through the wreckage over and over again, to never let himself forget.  

He tries to kiss her again, but she turns her face away, eyes squeezed shut. The saltwater on her cheek is enough to make the pleasure in his belly roar to a fever pitch; he loses all sense of rhythm as he shoves into her, snarling and clutching when he comes.  

He wants to scrape to the edge of the skin without shredding it. To feel victory as hollow as razor burn.  

 

* * *

 

He leaves her on the bed, shaking and curled into a ball, with come smeared across her thighs. There is no blood, not since the first time. There might as well be.  

In the next room, he types a message on the soft glow of his comms pad. It is addressed to Doctor Usdo and as brief as he can make it.  _Maintain lower dose until stabilis_ _ation_.  

The response is just as short. _Understood_.  _And after stabilisation?_  

Grimly, Kylo weighs the balance of it, the sweet softness of a vacant smile and the vitality and life force of blunted rage. The way her tears on his skin didn’t feel that different from her kisses.  _To decide in due course_ , he taps back.  

After all— either way, he wins.   

 

 


End file.
